


Conjugal Visits

by MimiWritesHerFandoms



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Multiple Orgasms, Multiple Sex Positions, Oral Sex, Public Sex, Rough Sex, Smut, handjob
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-08-21 18:43:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8256350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MimiWritesHerFandoms/pseuds/MimiWritesHerFandoms
Summary: Dean and the reader have a purely “friends with benefits” arrangement. One that comes with an interesting twist. Every time they get together, it has to be different. Different positions, different kinks, anything new that they’ve never done before. Dean likes to joke that the time he and reader spend together is tantamount to the conjugal visits prisoners were allowed with their spouses, only once or twice a month, for a few hours at a time.





	1. Prologue

 

Dean liked to joke that the time the two of you spent together was tantamount to the conjugal visits prisoners were allowed with their spouses. The first time he’d said it, you’d thrown a pillow at his head, hitting him square in the face. He’d tackled you to the bed and tickled you until you couldn’t breathe.

“You know conjugal means between married couples, right?” you asked once you’d finally given in, your chin resting on his chest, staring into his emerald green eyes, fingers interlaced with his.

“Yeah, but I’m thinking of it more in terms of visits for sex, like prisoners get, you know?” he chuckled. “What we have, what we do, it kind of reminds me of that, only once or twice a month, for a few hours at a time. 

You glanced at the clock, sighing heavily. “Speaking of which, I’ve got to go. I have a meeting with the new supervising agent in an hour.” You pressed a kiss to his lips, rose to your feet, and started gathering your clothes. Dean did the same.

Once you were both dressed, Dean pulled you into his arms, rubbed his nose against yours, then he kissed you. 

“Duty calls?” he murmured against your mouth.

“There’s a serial killer in Arkansas,” you explained. “We’re on deck.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up and his head tilted to one side. “Serial killer? You’re sure?”

“Yes, Dean.” You rolled your eyes. “I did all the research, looked at it from every angle. It’s a human, Dean, not a monster. I promise. The FBI can handle this one.”

“Alright, alright, Agent Y/L/N,” he laughed. “I believe you. Especially if you’re working the case.” He grabbed his jacket and keys. “What’s on the agenda for next time?”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged. You and Dean had an agreement, of sorts. Every time you got together, it had to be different. Different positions, different kinks, anything new that you’d never done before. Nothing was off limits. If it made either of you uncomfortable, the idea was tossed, though you were both always willing to at least discuss it. “Do you have any ideas?”

“I might have a few,” Dean smirked. He winked at you, pulled the door open and strode out.

You watched him go, your heart pounding, your stomach twisted in knots. You couldn’t wait until next time.

 


	2. Cowgirl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and the reader have a purely “friends with benefits” arrangement. One that comes with an interesting twist. Every time they get together, it has to be different. Different positions, different kinks, anything new that they’ve never done before. Dean likes to joke that the time he and reader spend together is tantamount to the conjugal visits prisoners were allowed with their spouses, only once or twice a month, for a few hours at a time.

 

It wasn’t easy being in a relationship, any kind of relationship, but being in one with a wanted criminal, especially when you were a promising FBI agent rapidly working her way up through the ranks, was a giant pain in the ass. But it was Dean and you’d known him for years, before you were an agent, hell, before you were anything other than a snot-nosed brat learning to shoot a gun alongside him and his brother.. You knew what he did and why and you would go to whatever means necessary to protect his secret. And him. You would also go to just about any means to continue your relationship with him.

You pulled your car into your customary spot behind the cabin, right next to the Impala, reached into the backseat for your bag and the items that Dean had specifically requested you bring, and climbed from the car, slamming the door behind you. 

It was quiet, the sun just slipping beneath the horizon, the sky a beautiful shade of orange. There was a bite in the air, the crispness of autumn finally noticeable. One light was burning in the cabin, in the main living area, the stereo playing quietly in the corner, a bottle of wine and a glass on the counter. You set your purse and keys on the counter and picked up the glass.

“Dean?” you called.

“Upstairs,” was his answer.

You followed the sound of his voice, the glass of wine in one hand, hat and boots in the other. You turned at the top of the stairs to see Dean leaning against the door to the bedroom. He was wearing jeans, a cowboy hat and a soft, brown leather vest. He had his customary smirk on his face, his cheeks lightly dusted with a couple days growth of ginger scruff.  

“Hey, cowgirl,” he chuckled.

You licked your lips, put the glass to your mouth and gulped down the rest of your wine in a couple of swallows. You set the glass on the highboard in the hall and dropped the hat on your head.

“Howdy, cowboy.”

* * *

Dean wanted you in the hat and your cowboy boots, nothing else. The second you’d stepped from the bathroom he’d been all over you, his rough, calloused hands running over your skin, exploring everything he was already more than familiar with. Now he had you on the bed, your back against the headboard, his head between your legs, fingers and tongue taking you to heights of pleasure that only Dean was able to take you to. He was working you over with that sinful tongue and those talented fingers and you weren’t sure how you’d be able to move when he was done, let alone do what he had planned.

“Dean,” you finally gasped. “You gotta let me catch my breath.”

He pulled away, leaving a delicious burn in his wake. He made his way up your body, stopping every so often to press a kiss to your overheated skin. He caught your lips in his, the taste of you still on him, the kiss slow and easy, perfect. He rolled to his back, pulling you with him, sighing as the weight of your body settled on him. The tip of his cock brushed against you, your slick covering him.

A moan rumbled through his chest, his hands clamping down tightly on your waist as he lifted you. He held you as you lowered yourself onto his throbbing shaft, his lower lip caught between his teeth, his green eyes nearly black with lust as he watched you. You picked the hat up from the bed where it had fallen and put it on, pulling it down so it fit snugly on your head.

You leaned over Dean and planted your hands firmly on his chest. “Ride ‘em, cowboy,” you grinned.

“Fuck, Y/N, yes,” Dean growled, his eyes rolling back in his head as you started to move, his hips coming up off the bed, his cock sliding deeper inside you. You rocked forward, moaning as he filled you. He released his tight hold on your waist, sliding his hands down your hips to rest them on the tops of your thighs. “Move, sweetheart.”

You followed his instructions, rocking forward and back, trembling a little when his cockhead brushed your g-spot. You did it again, your body reacting the same way with every move. Dean’s hands curled around your thighs, pulling you forward, his head thrown back, breathy groans leaving him every time you moved.

You started slow, letting the sensations roll through you, but Jesus, you wanted to move, wanted to ride him hard and fast, ride him until you were both exhausted, until you were falling into his arms, spent. You leaned over him, cupping his face in your hands, kissing him. He returned it, enthusiastically, one hand on the back of your neck, holding you to him, his kisses greedy and probing.

Dean pulled away, nipping at your lips as he broke off the kiss. “Turn around, princess,” he ordered.

You didn’t hesitate, dropping another quick kiss to his cheek before lifting yourself off of him and turning around so you were facing his feet. You braced your hands on his thighs as Dean held his cock, brushing it against the lips of your pussy, one hand on your waist, guiding you as he easily slid back into you. 

You closed your eyes, rocking backwards, gasping as Dean thrust into you, filling you completely. You raised a hand to your head, holding the hat on your head as you let yourself go, fucking him with abandon. Every drag of his cock hit just perfectly, every thrust pushed you closer to climax. You let your hand slide down your body, let it come to rest between your legs, your fingers pressed to your clit, moaning at the intense combination of Dean inside of you and your own movement. He put both hands on your waist, his thumbs resting on the curve of your back, yanking you forward and back, silently encouraging you to move, urging you on.

You were nearly in a frenzy, insatiable, riding him like you never had before, your only thought was getting not only yourself off, but Dean as well. You were covered in a light sheen of sweat, wanton cries of pleasure coming from you, your entire body hovering right on the edge.

Dean yanked you backward, hard, his hips coming up off the bed, burying himself in the wet heat of your cunt. You felt his body tense beneath yours, his cock surge, felt his fingers clamp down so hard on your waist that you knew there would be bruises later. The orgasm rushed through you, your vision gone white, every muscle trembling, exquisite pleasure consuming you. When it was over, you fell forward, your arms resting on Dean’s thighs, the hat tumbling from your head and falling to the bed between his legs.

He ran his hands up and down your back, his touch soft, gentle. “How you doin’ sweetheart?” he murmured.

“Yee-haw,” you giggled.

* * *

Forty-five minutes later you were showered and dressed, your bags in the backseat of your car, the hat and boots tucked safely in the trunk. Dean had you pressed against the side of his Impala, his lips on your neck, his hands on your ass.

“You’re on deck,” he muttered, still kissing you.

“My turn, huh?” you grinned. “I might have a few ideas. When?”

“Who knows?” Dean shrugged. “We’ll figure it out. We always do.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead, squeezed your ass, then climbed in his car, rolling down his window and waving as he drove away.  

You shook your head as you climbed into your car, following him up the dirt drive. You needed to come up with something perfect for your next encounter.

 


	3. Push Me Higher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and the reader have a purely “friends with benefits” arrangement. One that comes with an interesting twist. Every time they get together, it has to be different. Different positions, different kinks, anything new that they’ve never done before. Dean likes to joke that the time he and reader spend together is tantamount to the conjugal visits prisoners were allowed with their spouses, only once or twice a month, for a few hours at a time.

 

Nobody could say she didn’t go to whatever lengths necessary to fulfill her fantasies, including spending what was probably a small fortune on the contraption currently sitting in the living room of the cabin.

“Y/N?” Dean yelled, his voice echoing through house. He knew she was here, her car was parked outside. He dropped his bag to the floor, grabbed a beer from the fridge and circled the living room, warily eyeing the piece of equipment assembled there.

It was a metal stand with four legs, more than six and a half feet tall, the bars crossed at the top, black, with heavy weights at the base of each leg. A harness with four straps was hanging from a thick, metal spring at the top. Dean put a hand out and gave it push, watching as it spun in a circle. He knew what it was, he’d seen it, or at least something similar to it, in some porno. He shook his head, chuckling quietly to himself, wondering how and why she’d chosen this for today’s rendezvous.

“What do you think?” he heard from behind him.

He turned to see Y/N standing at the foot of the stairs, a short, black, silk robe wrapped loosely around her. It left very little to the imagination, and as for what was covered, well, fuck, he couldn’t wait to get his hands on it. He shifted slightly, his hardening dick trapped uncomfortably behind the thick denim of his jeans.

“A sex swing, huh?” he asked.

She shrugged, the edge of the robe slipping off her shoulder, exposing her bare skin. Dean licked his lips, already imagining how good she would taste, He couldn’t wait to get his mouth on her.

“You okay with that?” she inquired.

He could’ve backed out then, told her he wasn’t so sure about suspending her in the air while he had his way with her; they’d still have some time for a few rounds of vanilla sex before he got back in his car and headed out. But ever since they’d started this - whatever  _ this _  was - he’d agreed to everything, as had she. He didn’t want to be the first one to break. He’d never been one to back down from a challenge and he wasn’t about to start now. 

He looked over his shoulder at the swing, envisioning her strapped in it, ready and waiting for him to do whatever he wanted to her. Trusting him completely to keep her safe.

Dean crossed the room in two long strides and pulled her into his arms. He dragged his lips over her naked shoulder, his tongue dancing out to taste her skin, a low hum of satisfaction drifting from his mouth. He loosened the tie, the robe falling open, her breasts bared to him, just a tiny scrap of black lace left covering her as he pushed the robe off of her and it drifted to the floor.

“Completely okay,” he murmured, cupping her breasts in his hands, his thumbs tracing circles around the nipples. He kissed her neck, the underside of her jaw, her lips, his hands sliding down her sides, his fingers hooking in the waistband of the lacy, black underwear, pushing them past her hips.

Y/N put her hands on his, stopping him. “Leave ‘em,” she whispered.

“Kind of hard to do what I want when you’re all covered up,” he grumbled.

“Don’t worry about it.” She winked as she pushed away from him. He dropped his hands from her sides, chuckling as she rose up on her toes and pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. She turned away just as he reached for her again, dancing out of his reach, laughing. She ended up standing in front of the swing, watching him, her eyes dark and sparkling, as she stepped into the harness, resting her ass on the bottom strap. She crooked a finger at him, gesturing for him to come closer.

Dean tossed his jacket and flannel onto one of the dining room chairs and kicked off his boots, his eyes never leaving Y/N’s. She was still watching him, swinging slightly back and forth on the swing, a smile on her face. He pulled his t-shirt over his head, tossing it aside, then he popped open the top button on his jeans, only slightly easing the discomfort his extremely hard, aching cock was causing. He reached out and grabbed the top horizontal bar of the swing, bringing it to a stop. He leaned down, caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilted her head back and kissed her, a long, deep, probing kiss. Y/N whined a little when he pulled away.

“Hm, impatient?” he murmured.

“Always, when it comes to you,” she grinned.

He grabbed the straps on the swing, yanking Y/N to him, standing between her open legs. She fell back, letting the strap catch her, completely calm, completely trusting him, something that always amazed him. It was one of the biggest turn ons he’d ever experienced. He ran his hands up her legs, leaving a trail of goosebumps wherever he touched her, even though her skin was warm to the touch. So warm and so soft. 

“What’s the word, princess?” he asked, not really looking at her, too busy caressing the soft suppleness of her curves, re-examining the lines of her body that he was already so familiar with. 

She looked surprised. “I don’t think -”

“You know the drill,” Dean shook his head, his tone shifting subtly, the words a command he knew she’d obey. “When we try something new, especially something like this, the word is a necessity. Now tell me what it is.” He slid the zipper on his jeans down and pushed his jeans off, his cock just peeking from the top if his boxers, Y/N’s eyes danced over it, her tongue snaking out to lick at her lips, a needy whine leaving her.

“Fairfax.” Her voice was breathy, thick, slightly desperate. She wanted him, he could  tell. It always gave him a slight thrill when he realized just how much she did.

Fairfax. It’s where they met, when they were just kids. Fairfax, Virginia. Fifteen years ago. A place and time neither of them would forget.

“Dean,” she moaned, dragging him back from whatever headspace he had somehow managed to get himself into. He let it go, let the memory fade back where it belonged, back into the deep recesses of his mind.

He grabbed her hands, pulling them up over her head. “Hold this,” he instructed, wrapping Y/N’s fingers around the bar at the top of the harness. “Don’t let go. Now, wrap your legs around me.” He was into it now, his mind focused on one thing and one thing only. Y/N.

She did as instructed, her heels resting loosely on the back of his thighs. He put his hands on her waist, pulling her forward, his cock jumping with interest when her warmth hit him. His breath caught in his throat, his eyes closing for the briefest second while he tried to hold himself back. Fuck, he didn’t want to, he wanted to fucking let loose, tear those goddamn lacy black panties from her body and dive in, bury his throbbing dick deep inside her, fuck her until she was screaming. But he waited, taking his time, knowing he’d eventually get everything he wanted.

He wanted her naked, wanted to feel the perfect softness of her skin, wanted to feel her as he worked her over, got her wet. He slid his hands down over her hips, his thumb dancing along the edge of her panties, before sliding down between her legs, his plan to tease her until she begged for more.

He had to stifle the groan bubbling up from deep in his chest when his fingers found Y/N’s soft, wet folds rather than the thin lace he’d expected. He wrapped an arm around her, lifting her and yanking her against his chest. His other hand was still between her legs, teasing her for a second before slipping a finger inside of her.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he growled, catching her lips in his, nipping at them. “Crotchless panties, Y/N?” He pressed his thumb against her clit and another finger inside of her, slowly dragging them over the ridge of rough tissue, pulling a startled ‘oh, god, yes,’ from her.

Dean released her, grabbed the strap and swung it slightly toward him, his fingers sinking deeper into her, then out as she swung away. Y/N groaned, her eyes rolling back in her head as he added a third finger, fucking into her with just his hand, over and over. The sheer ecstasy on her face, the way she just let him take control, the way she succumbed to his touch, the feel of her cunt clenching around him as he pushed her to orgasm, all of it had his cock hard and weeping, tenting his boxers.

His pushed his boxers off with one hand, letting them slide down his thighs and past his calves, pooling at his feet. He kicked them aside as he swung Y/N closer, his cock in his hand, her body strung so tight that she’d resorted to merely whimpering his name as he guided himself inside of her.

Y/N arched her back as he sunk into her, her knuckles white as she wrapped her hands around the straps on either side of her. It was strange at first, having her hanging suspended in front of him, nothing supporting her but a few padded straps, her body tight against his. He spread his legs a little, one foot slightly behind the other, widening his stance in order to keep his balance, and grabbed the straps just above her hands..

He moved the swing away from him, sliding his cock out of Y/N’s wet heat until the tip was brushing against her folds, then he pulled the swing back toward him, easing his cock back into her until he bottomed out, his heavy sac brushing against her ass. He repeated the move, taking his time, hesitating for just a moment as he figured out the best way to move her, the motion that would get both of them what they needed, what they wanted.

“Jesus Christ, Dean,” Y/N moaned. “Don’t stop, please, just fuck me, fuck me like that, keep doing that.” She was sprawled out in the swing, completely relaxed, a blissed out look on her face, a little gasp leaving her every time he moved.

God, he loved it when she told him what she wanted, when she let him know that what he was doing was getting her off. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and let himself go. It was like nothing he’d ever experienced, the way her body moved fluidly with his, how effortlessly he was able to penetrate her, deeper and harder than ever before, intensifying the gamut of emotions already running through him. He was in a frenzy, slamming into her, both of them moaning and gasping as Dean moved faster, the swing gliding back and forth, his cock throbbing, aching, his balls drawing up tight as his body tensed, right on the edge of orgasm.

Y/N’s cries were getting louder, her voice wrecked as she screamed out her pleasure, her slick coating him as she came, her cunt clenching tight around him, milking his own orgasm from him. One of Dean’s hands moved up to the bar at the top of the swing, holding it in a near death grip as his other hand settled at her waist, his fingers digging in deep, fucking her with an abandon that he only ever experienced with her.

The orgasm burst through him, lighting every nerve ending on fire, completely engulfing him. He growled Y/N’s name, grunting a little as he came, the sensations practically overwhelming him.

When it was over, when the the high had started to ebb the tiniest bit for both of them, Dean helped Y/N from the harness, both of them stumbling over their feet to fall, laughing, to the couch. Y/N plastered kisses across his face, giggling when he tried to pull away, feigning irritation. He growled, flipped her to her back, pinning her beneath him, and catching her lips in his, kissing her like there was no tomorrow. 

“That was fun,” she gasped when they broke apart. “Let’s go again.” She slid her hands between his legs, taking his now soft cock in her hand, stroking him gently.

He rested his forehead against hers, his breathing speeding up as she caressed him. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Let’s go again.”

* * *

He heard her car pulling off the dirt road and onto the pavement, the sound of the engine fading rapidly. She had a lead foot, even when she wasn’t due back at the office in less than two hours. They’d gotten a little carried away and ended up staying longer than usual, so he’d offered to stay and clean up so she could get back. It was the least he could do.

He finished tucking the last few pieces of the swing into the closet at the bottom of the basement stairs. It was a good thing no one else ever used this cabin; the sheer amount of sex toys and paraphernalia stashed in various locations around the cabin might frighten away even the most open minded person. He did a quick once over around the room, making sure he’d put everything away, then he grabbed the bottle of scotch and downed the last couple of swallows, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He grabbed his bag from where he’d dropped it by the door, already thinking ahead to next time.

 


	4. Sinful Lips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and the reader have a purely “friends with benefits” arrangement. One that comes with an interesting twist. Every time they get together, it has to be different. Different positions, different kinks, anything new that they’ve never done before. Dean likes to joke that the time he and reader spend together is tantamount to the conjugal visits prisoners were allowed with their spouses, only once or twice a month, for a few hours at a time.

 

You were only a few steps in the door when you were grabbed and pressed against the wall. Dean caught your lips in a bruising kiss, his hands on your ass, already tugging the edge of your dress up. Your bag fell from your hand, hitting the floor as he kicked the door, slamming it closed, the sound like a gunshot, making you jump.

“Dean,” you gasped, your hands on his chest, breaking off the kiss and pushing him away. “What the hell?”

He just stared at you; anger, sorrow, disappointment, guilt, and a million emotions clouding his emerald green eyes. You’d seen it before, more than once, and you knew what it meant.

You dropped your hands to your sides and leaned back against the wall, your head tilted back, waiting.

Dean stepped forward, his body pressed against yours, tension thrumming through him like a live wire. He took one of your hands in his, holding it against your side. His eyes roamed up and down the length of your body, taking you apart with nothing more than a look. He twisted his fingers in the side of your dress and yanked it above your waist, holding it there. He leaned over you, his lips sliding along the edge of your jaw and down your neck, stopping at your collarbone to suck greedily. You moaned, tipped your head to the side, and grabbed his head with your free hand, holding him to you. A low growl rumbled through his chest, his hand squeezing yours, his teeth sinking into your shoulder, marking you.

He released you and dropped to his knees, one hand sliding up the back of your leg to cup your ass, the other pressed to your stomach, holding your dress above your waist. He mouthed at your panty clad pussy, inhaling deeply as his nose brushed against you, his hot breath sending a shiver of desire through you. 

You grabbed his wrist, something, anything to ground yourself, to keep yourself from going out of your mind because of lust-fueled want. Your leaned back, your hair falling over your face, a sinful groan leaving you as Dean pushed the fabric of your black panties down just enough to gently lick you. The day old scruff on his chin scratched at the delicate skin of your inner thighs as he used his tongue to find your clit, nuzzling in between your thighs. The slight flick of his tongue sent a shockwave of intense sensation rolling through you; his lips wrapping around your clit, suckling it, nearly had you collapsing to the floor. 

He held you in place, not letting you move, his head between your legs, groaning a little as he explored you with his lips and tongue. You forgot how to breathe, forgot how to pull the air into your lungs and expel it, forgot how Dean could take you right up to the edge of reason and hold you there, hold you at the precipice of ecstasy, but not let you go, keeping you perfectly balanced  _ right there _ , so close, but out of your grasp, your body under his control, under his will, your pleasure at his whim.

Only after you put your hand on the back of his head, holding him to you, his name a strangled curse falling from your lips, only then did he strip the soaked panties from your body, pull your leg over his shoulder and lift you until your weight was resting on him, the heel of one foot barely touching on the floor, the width of his shoulders supporting you as you fell back against the wall. He slid his hand up your inner thigh, pushing your legs open even further, two of his fingers pressing in alongside his tongue, agonizingly slow, dragging in and out, as he took his time, teasing you, opening you, all of his focus on pleasing you.

You were wrecked, every nerve ending singing, Dean playing you like a finely tuned instrument. His head moved side to side as he pushed his fingers and his tongue deeper into you, his other hand clamped down tight on the back of your leg. You knew you’d have bruises there later, finger shaped bruises to go with the bite mark on your shoulder. You didn’t care, you wanted more, wanted him to cover every inch of you, wanted those sinful lips all over your body, wanted him to take you apart. You moved, rocking against him, drawing an even deeper growl from him. He pushed in closer, tongue and fingers fucking into you, nose pressed to your clit, devouring you.

Your hips bucked, your body spasming as you came, the orgasm white-hot, dirty and unbelievably fantastic. You screamed out your pleasure, begging Dean for more, more, don’t stop, don’t fucking stop, until your throat was raw, your shouts fading to satisfied whimpers.

Dean released you, his chin, wet with your slick, brushing against your thighs as he set you on your feet and stood up. He opened his pants and pulled his cock free, stiff and thick, pre-come leaking down the sides. He lifted you, pulling your shaking legs around his waist, his cockhead rubbing enticingly against the lips of your pussy. 

You moaned, squirming and writhing in his arms, needing him inside you, agonizing over the need. “Dean, please,” you begged.

He eased into you, his forehead pressed to yours, his eyes open, his gaze locked on you. He held himself inside you, not moving, the two of you breathing in sync, the connection deeper than the mere act of sex. You gasped when he moved, his hips rocking up and into yours.

“Kiss me, Y/N,” he growled. 

You wrapped your hands around the back of his neck, your lips crashing into his, the taste of you on his tongue, longing and need and want surging through you. He buried himself inside you, short, tight, deep thrusts that had you clawing at his back and crying out his name like a prayer. The second orgasm was sharp and quick, a bone deep shudder of sensations exploding through you. 

Dean groaned as your cunt fluttered around him, driving into you at a near manic pace. He sucked at your lower lip, fisting his hands in your hair, his entire body tensing as he slammed into you one last time, his cock throbbing and pulsing as he came.

He held you against the wall, kissing you, for a long time after.

* * *

You hadn’t even noticed, but he was wearing your favorite dress shirt, the one with stripes, the one you’d bought him at that department store in St. Louis a few years ago. You didn’t notice until he was straightening the cuffs and tucking it back into his navy dress pants.

“Everything okay?” you finally asked, though you were pretty sure you knew what the answer would be.

“I’m fine,” he mumbled, not looking at you, instead concentrating very hard on buckling his belt. 

You knew better than to press him for answers, you wouldn’t get them anyway. Instead, you crossed the room, wrapped your arms around him and pressed your forehead to the middle of his back. He relaxed for a minute, letting you hug him, but it didn’t last long. His shoulders stiffened noticeably after just a few seconds and he stepped away from you, turned and pulled you tight against him, kissing you hard on the corner of your mouth before letting you go and scooping his bag off the floor.

“I gotta go, princess,” he said, the corner of his mouth tipping up in his familiar smirk. “Call me.” 

And then he was gone.

 


	5. Her Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and the reader have a purely “friends with benefits” arrangement. One that comes with an interesting twist. Every time they get together, it has to be different. Different positions, different kinks, anything new that they’ve never done before. Dean likes to joke that the time he and reader spend together is tantamount to the conjugal visits prisoners were allowed with their spouses, only once or twice a month, for a few hours at a time.

 

Dean had avoided calling her for almost three months. He kept telling himself it was because he was busy, that all this shit with Sam and Ruby and the seals was consuming all of his time. It was a good enough lie, good enough that he didn’t explore too carefully the need he felt to hear her voice, or the need to kiss her lips, the need to feel her arms around him. He didn’t want or need any of that and he’d never admit it if he did.

He’d even told himself that when she finally called, he wouldn’t go, that he wouldn’t drop everything to meet her. He swore he wouldn’t. Which was why he was turning down the dirt road leading to the cabin, the Impala’s headlights splashing over her car parked against the side of the building.

He shut Baby down and stared at the back entrance, still not sure he was going to stay. Maybe he’d just start the car and leave. He had things to do. He opened the door, stepped out of the car, leaned on the door, contemplating.

The curtain covering the window of the second story bedroom twitched, just enough that Dean caught a glimpse of bare skin illuminated by the soft light of the lamp on the bedside table. He pushed closed Baby’s door and went through the back gate.

* * *

He found her upstairs, in the master bedroom. The radio was playing, low, quiet, barely noticeable. Y/N wasn’t naked, but she might as well have been, sporting nothing but a pair of too short boy shorts and a tank top. She was leaning against the wall by the window, waiting.

“Hi,” she murmured, sipping from the bottle of beer in her hand, condensation sliding down the glass and dripping onto her chest, slipping down between her breasts.

“Hey,” he replied. “How’s it going?” He tried to sound nonchalant, but he didn’t even sound convincing to himself.

“Good,” she shrugged. “You?”

“Crazy,” he said, stepping further into the room. “As usual.” It was the truth, but he didn’t want to expand on it. He hoped she wouldn’t ask.

She didn’t. She set the bottle on the table and climbed onto the bed; Dean couldn’t take his eyes off of her as she crawled toward him, stopping in front of him and rising to her knees. He didn’t move as she pushed his jacket and flannel off his shoulders, letting them fall to the floor. She nibbled at his lower lip while she worked open the button and zipper on his jeans, hooked her thumbs in the waistband, and pushed them down just a little, his cock springing free. She scraped her fingers through the short hairs at the back of his neck, pushed her tongue into his mouth, stroking the length of his hardening cock with the palm of her hand, barely touching him, using one finger to delicately trace the thick vein on the underside, before she slid her hand down to cup his balls.

Dean groaned and reached for her, but she pushed his hands away and shook her head. She slid her lips along the edge of his jaw and down his neck, wrapped her fingers around his shaft and stroked him, her grip firm, but gentle. On the upstroke, she ran her thumb around the tip of his cock, circling it.

He relaxed, let his eyes flutter closed, his hands loose at his sides, his breathing slow and even. He trusted her, so much so that when he felt the first touch of silk wrapping around his wrist, he didn’t even flinch. But he did open his eyes, opened them to look at her, a question in his eyes, his lip tipped up in a slight smirk.

“Bondage?” he murmured, taking in the bright blue silk scarf around his wrist.

She nodded, one shoulder raising in a half shrug. “More like light bondage,” she said, almost too quiet for him to hear. “It’s my turn to choose.”

He didn’t argue, because she was right, it was her turn to choose. Instead, he nodded, reached back and yanked off the t-shirt he was still wearing, raised a knee and put it on the bed, letting her guide him where she wanted him.

He ended up stretched out on the bed, each arm tied to a corner of the four-poster bed, not tight, but tight enough that he knew she meant business, the scarves wrapped around his wrist and up to his elbow, looping back so both ends were tied to the post at the corner. Y/N sat beside him, her clothes still on, and now he was regretting let her tie him down so quickly, regretting not being able to peel those clothes from her body so he could let his hands drift over her skin, watch her come undone merely from that alone. But it was her choice and this was what she wanted.

He closed his eyes again, determined to shut out the rest of the world and let himself enjoy the next couple of hours. He could go back to worrying, fighting and chasing down the demons later. For now, he was at her mercy. And he planned to enjoy every minute of it.

She ran her hands up his thighs, her touch light and easy as she moved to caress him, first his balls and then his cock. She took it in her hands, holding it between her palms, and gently rolled her hands together. She wrapped her fingers around the shaft, firmly stroking him.

Dean twisted his fingers around the silk scarves, holding them tightly, the muscles in his forearms bulging slightly, his gut clenching in anticipation, his stomach muscles fluttering, her touch lighting a fire on his skin. He kept his eyes closed; he wanted to stay lost in what she was doing, didn’t want to distract himself from the way she was touching him, the feel of her hands on her body. There was a rush of sound in his ears and it took him a second to realize that it was the pounding of his heart, his blood rushing through his veins.

The feel of the cool liquid sliding over his cock made him jump, his eyes popping open. Y/N was hovering over him, straddling his thighs, a bottle of lube in her hand. She tossed it aside and smiled at him as she fisted his cock, holding him tightly at the base with one hand and circling the head with just her thumb and forefinger. She moved her hands, twisting and sliding them in opposite directions, her brow slightly furrowed in concentration, her tongue just peeking out of the corner of her mouth.

He planted his feet on the bed, groaning, his hips rising to meet her hands, every part of him aching with desire, the need so extreme that it pushed everything else from his head. Y/N’s hand slid down his shaft, past the velvety soft sac, to gently caress the sensitive skin just beneath his balls with her knuckle.

“Fuck,” Dean gasped, a shudder running through him, his cock twitching, surging, the need to come so strong he could feel it in his toes. He held back by sheer force of will and Y/N’s thumb and forefinger encircling him right at the root. She leaned over him, brushing a kiss across his lips, dragging her nails up his shaft, then back down before fisting him and stroking him roughly. Her lips slid up his jaw to his ear.

“Do you want to come?” she whispered, the words alone causing his skin to break out in goosebumps, the want so deep it hurt.

“Yes.” The word was a hiss, an exhale barely pushing past his lips.

“Then do it,” she murmured, her fingers circling the tip of his cock and sliding down before jerking him off, quick and sharp.

Dean’s entire body seemed to spasm, come shooting over her hand and across his stomach, his grunts of pleasure swallowed by Y/N’s mouth on his.

* * *

Y/N didn’t untie him, not right away. She left him on the bed, brought a warm washcloth in from the bathroom and cleaned him up, then she tossed it on the table before crawling back up beside him, kissing her way up his body before sprawling over him, her lips greedily exploring his neck and the underside of his jaw.

He didn’t move, didn’t even try to, content to let her do what she wanted, his eyes closed, a slight smile flitting across his lips.

It wasn’t long before he felt the familiar tightening in his gut, arousal moving through him at a languid pace. Y/N pushed herself off of him and stripped off her clothes, her y/e/c never leaving his emerald green ones. She straddled him again, the naked lips of her pussy, slick with her own arousal, resting against his hardening dick.

“Untie me,” he growled, yanking at the scarves still binding him to the bed.

She nodded, didn’t even hesitate, reaching over and slipping the knots free, the scarves falling from his arms. He pushed himself up and leaned against the headboard, pulling Y/N with him, his arms sliding around her, her legs on either side of his hips, his mouth on hers, sucking at her tongue. She reached between them, guiding him inside her, moaning as she rocked forward, taking him deeper with every tip of her hips until he was fully seated inside of her.

They were unbelievably close, chest to chest, so close that there was nothing but the two of them, the world narrowed to just them, one of his hands tangled in her hair, fingers of the other intertwined with hers, their foreheads pressed together, bodies moving in perfect synchronicity.

He let her set the pace, let her ride him, use him, do whatever she wanted. When she guided his hand between their bodies, he knew exactly what she wanted, what she needed, and he was more than willing to oblige. His fingers slipped through their slick, pressing delicately against her clit, his lips sealing around the pulse point on her neck, his teeth nipping at the soft skin, marking her.

She moaned, a euphoric sound that sent chills racing down his spine, settling deep in his gut, a tight knot of intense pleasure burning right through his nerve endings. He growled, the sound vibrating through his chest, his body on the edge, close to coming.

Y/N pushed herself impossibly closer to him as his fingers circled her clit. She held the back of his head, holding him to her neck, her lips against his ear, her breath warm.

“Harder, Dean,” she gasped. “Jesus, I need you to fuck me harder.”

He wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her down onto him, fucking up into her, the need, the want, consuming both of them, pushing everything else away, just like it always did. A light sheen of sweat covered them both, the bed shook with the force of their movements, the headboard hitting the wall, and the world dissolved around them into nothing more than their most basic need.

Y/N’s head fell back, her walls tightening around him as she came, gasping his name. He pushed up into her as she convulsed around him, milking another orgasm from him, her nails digging into his shoulders, the bite of pain adding to intensity of the pleasure. Her name was a long, drawn out groan as he let loose, emptying himself inside her.

* * *

Dean watched her as she threw the last of her things in her bag, zipped it shut, and then pulled her jacket on. He stepped up next to her, reached out, and adjusted the collar, one side flipped, lying against her neck. He brushed his fingers over the light purple mark he’d left just above her collarbone.

“Whoops,” he chuckled, his hand sliding around her neck, tugging her to him, catching her lips in his, kissing her, hard.

She put her hand over his, pushing away and breaking off the kiss. He couldn’t help but notice the irritation evident on her face.

“What?” he asked, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“No marks, remember?” she muttered.

Dean didn’t bother to remind her of the red scratch marks on his back or the crescent shaped grooves dug deep into his shoulders. “It was an accident. I got caught up in the moment.” he shrugged. “Wear a collared shirt for a few days, no big deal.”

She hefted her bag onto her shoulder, pushed herself up on her toes, her hand on his arm, and kissed the corner of his mouth, her brows drawn together, a frown on her face, a heavy sigh slipping from her.

“Kind of a big deal,” she replied. “I’ve got a date on Friday.” She pushed past him to the bedroom door, pausing just long enough to toss a glance over her shoulder in his direction and wiggle her fingers in a little wave. “Call me.”

The door closed behind her.

Dean sank to the bed, the words she’d just said slowly registering in his brain. She was walking out of a room still filled with the scent of their sex, past a bed with sheets marked by their sweat and come, and talking about having a date. He couldn’t wrap his brain around it.

But he didn’t care.

He didn’t.

 


	6. You Spin Me Right Round

 

It wasn’t supposed to bother you that you hadn’t heard from Dean for months, or that he hadn’t apologized when you finally saw him. It just wasn’t. This wasn’t a relationship, not really, this was two friends with a mutual need, who came together to satisfy that need. Friends with benefits. It was the only reason you’d accepted a date with Billy in the first place. You couldn’t keep putting your life on hold, waiting for Dean, pretending what you had was a relationship. You wanted something real. Dean didn’t.

You slammed your car door, but you didn’t start it right away, just sat behind the wheel, staring at the back of Dean’s stupid car. His Baby. You tried to shake yourself free of the image of Dean’s face when you’d told him you had a date, the way it had fallen, how he’d tried to cover up the hurt. You hit the steering wheel with the palm of your hand, irritation flooding from you. He had no right. None. You’d only done what you did because you knew there was no future with Dean. He’d made that clear on several occasions, made it clear every time he walked away from you. He’d broken your heart so many times you weren’t sure it could be repaired. 

You didn’t look back as you drove toward the main road. You couldn’t.

* * *

You hadn’t expected him to call, especially not less than three weeks later. Nor had you expected him to ask you to meet him at an all night laundromat at two in the morning a half an hour from your house. When you arrived, the Impala was the the only car parked outside and the only person you could see inside was Dean. The lights were off behind the counter and everything appeared to be locked down tight. The door squeaked loudly when you opened it, drawing Dean’s attention from the book in his lap. Vonnegut.

“Hey,” he murmured. “Wasn’t sure you’d come.” He set the book on the small table and folded his hands in his lap.

“Of course I came,” you shrugged. “You called, didn’t you?”

“Thought you’d be with your new boyfriend,” he jeered, rising to his feet. He leaned against the bank of washing machines, those damn bowlegs crossed at the ankles, his arms crossed over his chest, making his biceps look even bigger and more intimidating. Raw sexual energy seemed to roll off of him in waves.

“Dean,” you sighed. “It was just a date -”

“Whatever,” he waved you off. “It’s my turn, right?”

“Yeah,” you muttered, resigning yourself to the fact that Dean wouldn’t discuss it. Maybe later. You rolled your shoulders, trying to loosen the stiff muscles. “Okay, but, what are we doing here?”

“My choice,” Dean said. “I choose here.” He crooked a finger at you. “Come here.”

You took a couple of steps closer. “Here?” you laughed. “Seriously? It’s a little public, don’t you think?” You glanced around, wondering if you were alone. The only sounds you could hear were the television playing quietly in the corner and water filling several of the washing machines.

“That’s the point,” he chuckled, lunging forward and grabbing you. You didn’t resist, letting him pull you into his arms, his lips on your throat, his hands on your wrists, holding them at your sides. He turned you around, trapping you between one of the washing machines and his body, then he pushed his knee between your legs, his thigh pressed against the apex of your thighs. You couldn’t stop your moan of desire.

You felt, rather than saw, the smirk on Dean’s face, heard the quiet laugh in the back of his throat. He released you, freeing his hands to push off your jacket, open the button on your jeans and slide down the zipper before slipping his hand past the waistband. He dragged his fingers slowly through the lips of your pussy, growling as your slick covered them.

“Fuuuck,” Dean drawled. “Already so fucking wet.” He pressed his thumb against your clit, circling it slowly.

You fell back, your elbows resting on the machine, trying to keep yourself from collapsing from his touch alone. Jesus, he knew how to rev your engines, a couple of kisses to the neck and his hand between your legs was all it took for you to be putty in his hands.

A burst of laughter from the canned laugh track on the television broke through the fog of your desire for a split second. Your eyes were drawn to the unlocked door, the wide bank of uncovered windows, and the bright lights illuminating everything.

“Dean,” you gasped. “Seriously, someone is going to see us.”

“I don’t give a fuck,” he growled. He dropped to his knees and yanked your jeans down, stopping only long enough to pull off your shoes before stripping your jeans and underwear completely off and tossing them aside. 

Once he was back on his feet, he slid his arm around your waist and lifted you up, setting you on the spinning washing machine. He pushed open your legs, slid his hand up your thigh and eased two fingers inside you. 

You moaned, your head falling to his shoulder, your hands gripping his biceps so tight you could feel your nails digging into his skin even through the flannel he was wearing, your hips rocking up to meet his hand as he pumped his fingers, the vibrations from the machine moving through your thighs, and settling right between your legs, adding to the sensations overtaking you. Your gut twisted and desire exploded through you, nothing but breathy cries coming from you as yet another unbelievable orgasm rolled through you. 

Dean pulled you closer to him until your ass was resting on the edge of the washing machine, then he popped open the button on his jeans and yanked down his zipper, pushing his clothes down enough to free his cock, already hard and throbbing. He was tall enough that he didn’t have to do anything more than push up a little on the balls of his feet and ease into you. 

You gripped the sides of the machine as Dean filled you, the stretch a delicious burn that made you groan. His huge hands were on your waist, pulling you down as he pushed up into you, circling his hips, his fingers digging into yours. He caught your lower lip between his teeth, biting it harshly. You gasped and pulled away, but Dean grabbed the back of your head, holding you to him, the kiss taking your breath away.

He tangled his fingers in your hair, tugging it, yanking your head back, his lips moving from your mouth down your jaw to your neck, nipping gently at the line of your throat. He slid you off the machine, your legs  around his waist as he thrust up into you.

Dean was relentless, kissing and licking and biting everywhere he could possibly reach as he fucked you hard enough to make you see stars, to make your skin burn with an unearthly need, to stop your breath from filling your lungs. You barely felt the bite of the washing machine pressing into your lower back or the way Dean yanked at your hair and dug the tips of his fingers into your skin, not when your body was burning with something indescribable, something only this man could bring out in you. 

Two more thrusts, hard, deep thrusts, and you were coming, your legs tightening around Dean’s waist, hands locked around the back of his neck, crying his name. Dean was close behind you, his body going stiff as he slammed into you, a low growl rumbling from him as he let go.

He didn’t let go of you, didn’t pull away, instead he held you, catching your lips in his and kissing you, slow, careful, tender, the complete opposite of what you’d just experienced. He set you back on the machine and eased out of you, his hands gently caressing your back, the kiss you were still engaged in making you ache with a different kind of need. You sighed heavily when he finally released you and stepped back.

He didn’t meet your eyes as he tucked himself into his jeans, then gathered your clothes and handed them to you. You dropped to the floor and dressed hurriedly, the thought that someone would come through the door now the foremost thought in your head.

You didn’t say anything until you were dressed, your shoes tied and your jacket on. Dean was back at the table, reclined in the chair, feet up, book in his hand. You shuffled your feet and cleared your throat as you leaned against the table by his feet.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you asked.

“Talk about what, Y/N?” Dean’s green eyes flashed in anger as he looked up at you, something you weren’t sure you’d ever seen from the hunter before.

“You and me, for starters,” you replied.

“There is no ‘you and me,’ remember?” he snapped. “This is nothing more than two people with a mutual need to get off. To fuck. That’s it.” He dropped his feet to the floor and pushed himself away from the table. He got up and turned his back on you. “Go back to your boyfriend.”

“Dean, please -”

He crossed the room in several long strides, the restroom door slamming closed behind him, cutting you off. Conversation over.

You waited two, three heartbeats, before digging your keys out of your jacket pocket and turning on your heel. You’d give him a few days to cool off, to get his head on straight, time to let whatever the hell was bothering him blow over. Maybe then you could tell him that you’d only had one date with Billy. One date and you’d known that he would never, ever, in a million years be able to make you feel like Dean, that you’d never love him like you loved Dean.

 


	7. On the Edge

 

_ Edging _

Just that one word, nothing more. Dean snapped the phone shut and shoved it into his pocket, shaking his head. He’d promised himself he wasn’t going to see her again, that it was time to walk away. Things had gotten weird, ever since she’d gotten herself a boyfriend, something he chose not to think about for too long. 

Except he still hadn’t broken it off with her, not yet. Sure, he’d thought about it something like half a dozen times a day, but he got a sick feeling in his stomach every time he did. He told himself that it was because of the sex - the unbelievable, amazing sex - the sex was too good to walk away from. He chose to ignore the fact that the need and the want for her ran deep into the marrow of his bones. 

So, he’d reverted to being an asshole, hoping she would be the one to break it off, that way he wouldn’t have to be the bad guy and he could walk away without feeling like a piece of shit. He thought for sure that was what would happen after that night at the laundromat. He’d figured he’d never hear from her again. Apparently that plan hadn’t worked.

Twenty minutes later a second text message had him pushing away from the table and his laptop - where he was definitely  _ not _  googling “edging” - and pulling his phone from his pocket again.

_ Cabin. Saturday around five. _

He tossed the phone on the table beside his laptop, glaring at it like it had bit him. God damn her. He paced back and forth, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. She wasn’t making this easy. He grabbed a beer from the mini-fridge in the corner and drank half off it in just a couple of swallows. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 

God damn her.

* * *

Dean stepped through the cabin door a few minutes after six on Saturday night. Y/N was on the couch, still in her fed clothes - skirt, button down top that fit tight across her breasts - shoes kicked off, glass of wine in her hand. She smiled when he opened the door, slow, sexy, a smile that sent a jolt of need racing through his gut.

“Hi,” she murmured, pushing herself to her feet. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

“I almost didn’t,” he shrugged. He tried to stare at a spot just over her left shoulder, instead of at the way her skirt hugged her curves, or the buttons of her shirt that were undone just enough that he could see the edges of the light blue lace bra she was wearing and the swell of her breasts. He swallowed thickly and tried to think past the end of his dick. 

He’d stepped through the door with every intention of laying it all on the line, telling her how he felt -a first for him - but fuck, the way she moved, the way she looked, the way she fucking smelled; he couldn’t think straight. All he could think about was getting her out of those clothes and beneath him.

She stepped close, millimeters close, the lavender scent of her shampoo filling his nose, the heat from her body warming him. She put her hand in the middle of his chest, pushed herself up on her toes and kissed him, her lips brushing lightly over his, her hand fisting in his t-shirt. 

“But you did,” she whispered, smiling.

Dean nodded, one hand falling to her waist, circling around her back to pull her close. He tipped his head, lifting her at the same time, their lips meeting in the middle in a hungry kiss. God, he wanted her. Talking could wait.

Her skirt hit the floor, along with his jacket and flannel. He toed off his boots while he deftly unbuttoned the remaining buttons of her shirt, pushing it out of his way so he could cup her breasts, his thumbs drifting across the hardening lace covered nipples. Y/N moaned, her back arching as she pushed herself closer, the length of her body flush against his.

He growled a little, the sound rumbling from deep in his chest, his hand sliding up her body to her neck, his hand resting against her throat. She whimpered, her eyes fluttering closed, a breathy ‘yes’ slipping past her lips.

Dean’s cock hardened immediately, pressing against the zipper of his jeans. He scooped Y/N up, holding her in his arms and sprinting up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He pushed open the half closed bedroom door with his hip, kicking it closed behind him before setting her on the bed. Her hands went immediately to the waistband of his jeans, unbuttoning them and unzipping them, her fingers drifting over his hard length before hooking them in his boxers and yanking them down, urging him out of his jeans and boxers. 

He let them fall, pooling at his feet. He kicked them away and tugged his t-shirt off, dropping it on the bed. He put a knee on the bed beside Y/N, stopping when she leaned into him, her tongue dragging along the underside of his cock to the tip. He moaned, his fingers fisting in her hair, pulling her closer. She slid her lips over his swollen cockhead and down the shaft, opening her throat, taking him almost to the root, her throat constricting around him.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his hips popping forward, his grip tightening on the back of her head, his legs shaking slightly as she swallowed him down, her fingers loosely wrapped around him, sliding up and down his cock, following the rhythm of her mouth. She put her free hand on his lower back, urging him on, her nails digging into the flesh, quiet moans of pleasure leaving her. She was the only woman he’d ever known who got off on blowing him. He loved it.

But that wasn’t what they were here for, and as much as he’d love to come down her throat, this was supposed to be about her. He grabbed her upper arm and pulled away, drawing a whine of protest from her. He stepped back, dragging her up his body, catching her lips in his in a bruising kiss. He pushed her backwards until she was stretched out on the bed and he was hovering over her, kissing her. He ran one hand up her leg, pushing her thighs open, his fingers dancing over her, a low groan leaving him when he felt how wet she was. He eased two fingers inside her, pumping them slowly, her breath quickening as he worked her over, his eyes never leaving hers.

It wasn’t long before she was writhing beneath him, her breath tearing in and out of her, her body trembling. She stretched, baring her throat to him, a deep, guttural moan coming from her when his lips sealed over her pulse point. She gripped the sheets in her hands, her hips rising to meet his fingers, a look of pure bliss on her face. She was close, he could see it on her face, hear it in her moans, feel it as her pussy tightened around his fingers. 

He eased his fingers out of her, tracing her soft lips, his thumb circling her clit, his lips sliding along the edge of her jaw to her earlobe, nibbling it gently.

“Dean,” Y/N groaned, squirming beneath him, her legs falling open, her hips rising up off the bed.

“Not yet, princess,” he growled. “You have to wait.” 

She drew in a stuttering breath and nodded, her nostrils flaring, her eyes nearly black with lust.

He dropped his head to the crook of her neck, nuzzling the spot where her shoulder and neck met. He moved down her body, his tongue lapping at her soft skin, circling her hard nipple, sucking it into his mouth, rolling it between his teeth until she was panting with need. He shifted again, sliding further down her body, sucking deep, purple marks in a line down her stomach until he reached the apex of her thighs.

He glanced up at her, taking in the pink flush of her skin, her lower lip caught between her teeth, her eyes squeezed shut. His tongue darted out, flicking lightly against her clit, drawing another moan from her. He slipped his hands beneath her, guiding her to his mouth, his tongue sliding into her, his head moving side to side as he did his best to devour her, to consume her, to push her right up to the edge, until she was begging him to let her come.

Her hands were on the back of his head, her hips moving, the volume of her cries getting louder and louder, and when he knew she was about to come, when he could feel her body tensing, feel the that the orgasm was about to happen, he released her, dragging his tongue from her and across her throbbing clit, sucking it briefly into his mouth, enough to make her hips buck before letting her go, her body dropping back to the bed. He pressed, wet, hot, open-mouth kisses to her thighs, relishing in the way she squirmed and moaned, all of it making his cock achingly hard.

“Dean, please,” she begged. “Please.”

He shook his head, words unnecessary. He crawled up the bed and slid his arm beneath her, pulling her against his chest, his hand between her legs, his two middle fingers pushing into her, the palm of his hand tight against her, thrusting and thrusting.

Her fingers curled around his wrist, holding his hand in place as she pushed her hips down, grinding on his fingers. He crooked him, pulling them forward in a come hither gesture, the tip of one finger brushing against the soft ridge of flesh, a shudder running through her entire body as he pressed it.

“Yes,” she breathed, “Jesus, yes.” Her hips were bucking, her nails digging into his shoulders. “Fuck, Dean, fuck, yes.”

“Do you wanna come, sweetheart?” he whispered in her ear, pumping his fingers in and out of her faster and faster.

“Y...y...yes, p-please,” she managed to choke out. “Please, Dean.” 

A light sheen of sweat had broken out all over her body, glistening on her skin. Dean ran his tongue down the column of her throat, savoring the taste of her. He was painfully hard, so hard it was difficult to think about anything but the way the brush of his cock against her leg was almost enough to make him come, or how the sounds she was making had him twitching and pulsing with an agonizing need, pre-come leaking from the tip, smearing against her leg. Her hips rose, his fingers sinking into her so deep his hand was flush against her body, his cock trapped between her side and his stomach, the friction deliciously perfect and too much to handle all at the same time.

Her cries were growing louder, higher pitched, breathier, and Dean knew, knew, she was going to come. He pressed his mouth to hers, his tongue pushing into her mouth, swallowing the noises she was making, as he rutted against her, both of them rushing toward their inevitable release.

Dean released her, pushing himself away from her, a strangled protest falling from her lips. He rose to his knees, hovering over her, his mouth on hers, kissing her.

“Dean, please.” She was flushed, sweating, trembling from head to toe, her chest heaving, her eyes silently begging him to take her.

“You wanted this,” he purred, their breath mingling as he spoke. “Say the word…” His fingers danced over the lips of her pussy, his tongue drifting across her lips.

But she was shaking her head, reaching for him, taking his length in her hand, stroking him roughly. He squeezed his eyes closed for a second and took a deep breath. He kneeled between her legs, pushing them open, his hands beneath her ass, lifting her so he was lined up with her entrance. He eased into her, her body opening up for him, taking him, all of him, her warmth surrounding him. He choked back the groan of satisfaction building in his throat, fighting to keep himself under control for just a little bit longer.

Dean put a hand on each of her hips, holding her as he thrust into her. Y/N moaned, her back arching, her eyes rolling back in her head, her pussy constricting around him. Dean thrust up and into her, burying himself to the root. He forced himself to take it slow, pulling back until just the tip of his cock was inside of her and she was shaking, her thighs quivering, obscenities rolling out of her. 

He fell over her, his hands on either side of her head, his cock sliding in deep. Her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, deeper, her fingers scratching in the short hairs at the nape of his neck.

“Fuck me hard,” she pleaded.

Dean groaned and slammed into her, his control gone, completely lost in the moment and his need to finally, finally bring her to orgasm. He rolled his hips, his pelvic bone pressing against her clit, every push and pull making his cock brush against her sweet spot, one hand seeking and finding her breast and pinching the nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

She was wound so tight, so on edge, so ready, that it only took a few thrusts of his hips, his fingers twisting her nipple, his lips to her throat and she was coming, her entire body responding, every muscle tensing, her eyes fluttering, her eyes rolled back in his head, screaming his name in ecstasy. 

Her walls tightened around him, and he was gone, he’d held on long enough. He let go, a low grunt of satisfaction mingled with desire and want and need pushing past his lips. He held her, his hand on her thigh keeping her leg around him, his hips still moving as he kissed her, a deep, mind-numbing, possessive, she’s-mine kind of kiss, the orgasm an unstoppable force as it rolled through him, drowning him in pleasure.

He kissed her for several minutes, and when he finally released her, finally took a moment to look into her eyes, he had to wipe the tears from her cheeks, earning himself a tentative smile.

“That was intense,” she murmured.

“Very,” he replied. “You good?”

“I’m fantastic,” she grinned. “Absolutely fucking fantastic.” She traced his spine with the tips of her fingers, pressing tender kisses to his shoulders, his neck, the edge of his jaw. “What about us, Dean? Are we good?”

Dean sighed and rolled off of her, lying next to her, shoulder to shoulder. “Y/N,” he breathed. He wasn’t sure he was ready to have  _ the _  conversation, he’d thought maybe he was, but now he wasn’t so sure.

“I know, Dean,” she said. “Trust me, I know. No feelings, friends with benefits, blah, blah, blah. I know you say that this is nothing more than a mutual need to get off, that’s it’s just two people fucking. But you can’t tell me there isn’t something there, something more. I know how I feel, I think I know how you feel. I just want to know if I’m right.”

“You’ve got a boyfriend -”

“No, Dean, I don’t.” She cleared her throat and then her hand was in his, her fingers tangled together with his. “I went on one date with that guy. One. But, he...he wasn’t you.”

Dean turned to face her, propped on one elbow. “What are you saying?”

She turned to look at him. “I want to try, Dean. You and me. I think we should give it a shot.”

* * *

Dean shot a look to his left, before turning right, pulling onto the hardtop. The taste of her was still in his mouth and the smell of her was all over him. He liked it that way, knowing he could pick this shirt up tomorrow or the next day, and it would still smell like her. He brushed a hand over his hair, turned the radio up and glanced in the rearview mirror, watching the cabin, and Y/N, quickly fading away.

 


End file.
